We see two figures on the dimly lit dock, MUFFLED SHOUTS muted in the WIND and LAPPING WAVES. Faint lights from the city and Marriott hotel shine on the water and occasionally illuminate the figures in spandex and leather. The clock tower CHIMES in the distance. The boats bop in the dark water.

The two figures fall to the floor, rolling into a patch of light as one tackles the other. SOARING SPARROW, a minor superhero with partial bird physiology and transformation abilities, straddles ISSAC HOADLEY, 25 a rookie villain with ice and minor air manipulation abilities known as Flurry, pinning him down to the dock.

(middle of sentence)
...ive up! Stupid villains. Don't know when to fucking quit.

Who you calling stupid, bird-brain?

Issac opens his palms towards Sparrow and a gust of ice shards hit the hero, allowing Issac to scramble to his feet. Sparrow's nails extend into bird-like talons as he charges at Issac again. Issac parries some of the attacks with a pole of solid ice he materializes and repairs when Sparrow's claws snap them.

Fu-ck. Shit.

Sparrow's attacks are too fast for Issac to keep up with. One talon slices a line down Issac's collar bone, narrowly missing his throat. Sparrow jumps in the air to land a final blow as Issac's ice pole snaps and he's distracted by the new injury.

You're mine, Flurry!

God-fucking-dammit. No way am I getting caught by a fucking bird.

Issac takes talons to the back as he ducks and tries to escape. He freezes a puddle of water on the dock, causing Sparrow to slip and fall on his ass with a wooden THUD. Issac shoots a large ice shard into Sparrow's leg and runs off the dock, using his powers to create ice stepping stones on the water as he runs towards the boats. Sparrow's curses fade in the distance.


SHAY SINCLAIR, 28 a major supervillain known as Wyvern with wyvern physiological transformation and minor temporary object transmutation abilities, lies on his back, dozing with BOTTLES OF BEER surrounding him, CLANKING together. He hears SHOUTS and gets to his feet, peering over the edge of the boat. He sees a blast of ice shards and hears YELLING, followed soon by a slew of profanity as a figure runs across the dark waters.

What do we have here...

Shay grabs one of the partially filled bottles and jumps from boat to boat, following after the figure on the water until he sees the person get onto a SMALL FISHING BOAT. Shay's eyes transform into reptilian slits to see better in the dark as he hides behind the sail of a SAIL BOAT.


Issac, oblivious to being watched, trips about over the ropes, nets, and other fishing paraphernalia while trying not to tip the boat and cursing under his breath.

...Goddamn stupid piece of shit bird. Fucking claws, what are they made of?

Issac removes the top half of his suit and bundles it into a ball, pressing it to his injury to staunch the blood flowing from the long cut across his shoulder. He sits down in the boat, freezing the water around it to stop the rocking for a bit.


Shay laughs quietly when the figure SQUAWKS upon accidentally falling out of the boat when he tries to sit down, before freezing the water around the boat to keep it steady and trying again.

I love the green ones. They're adorable; so easy to manipulate. Oh. What's this?

The person reaches up and pulls off the black DOMINO MASK from his face. The man shakes his head, dropping the mask to the side, and tilts his head up towards a small LANTERN hanging over the boat. Shay's eyes roam over the revealed features.

Oh, you poor little snowflake. You've just made a huge mistake.

Shay smirks wickedly as he makes his way back to the pier. He tosses his beer bottle into the water with a low SPLASH.




Three days later, we see Shay sitting at his desk, TAPPING his fingers to the beat of his MUSIC, a song by an indie punk-rock band, against his laptop. The BLINDS are closed, a COLD CUP OF COFFEE sits next to his laptop. He's dressed for comfort in just an old pair of sweats, his SNAKE TATTOO winding up from his left side.


Four windows are opened; a NEWS ARTICLE, the SUPERS DATABASE run by the Court of Heroes and open for the public, the FACULTY PAGE of the Boston Public High School website, and a MICROSOFT WORD DOCUMENT with a series of bullet points. We ZOOM in and PAN DOWN on the NEWS ARTICLE.

The phrases Shay skims over are bold.

... new villain on the scene... ice manifestation... Sunday afternoon a jewelry store... Tidal injured when attempting to apprehend...



a spreadsheet with columns labelled ALIAS, STANDING, POWERS, DEBUT, STATUS. Shay CLICKS and highlights one row that reads FLURRY, EVIL, ICE MANIFESTATION, MAY 2015 (EVERETT, MA), ALIVE.


Shay's chin rests in his palm, fingers drumming against his cheek. He smirks in amusement.

Seems like the Court of Heroes hasn't noted his abilities in air manipulation. Your team's getting sloppy, General.

Shay scrolls upwards to the top of the site where some of the rows have a RED EXCLAMATION MARK on the left. The rows above them have a GOLDEN STAR to the left. Shay rolls his eyes at them and hovers the mouse over one of the rows with the red exclamation marks. It reads across: WYVERN, VILLAIN, DRAGON PHYSIOLOGY/TRANSFORMATION, DEC 2014 (BOSTON, MA), ALIVE. Shay snorts a derisive laugh.

It's in my bloody name. Wyvern. Not dragon.
(heavy sigh)
They have had two years to get me, at the very least, down. None of those goody-two-shoe pansies have any semblance of observational skills. And they pride themselves on their data collection and intellect. They don't know the half of it, stupid heroes.

Shay picks up a BLACK PEN and twirls it in his free hand, a lazy grin on his lips. Between one spin and the next, the pen dissolves and reforms into a SILVER KEY. He sets it back down on the table.


where the second hand TICKS quietly. Shay's MUSIC fades further into background noise. The screen splits.

On the left screen is the key.

On the right screen is the clock.

At 20 seconds the key begins to change color. At 40 seconds, it's the color of the pen it used to be and now begins to slowly melt and reform on its own. At 60 seconds, it is the pen once again.



On the dot. As always.

Shay closes the SUPERS DATABASE and NEWS ARTICLE. His phone RINGS. Pulling it out of his pocket, he wrinkles his nose at the caller id, flashing the name NICOTINE, Shay's nickname for NICOLE PFIEFFER, 34 the head chef and co-owner of the successful restaurant "Fork and Dagger" of which Shay owns 30% and Nicole the other 70. She's a chain smoker with a harsh, raspy voice.

What can I do for you this fine day, my love?

Just reminding you of the event at the restaurant you can't skip out on.

Ah... Right. That's on... next week? See, I've kind of got-

When I say you can't skip out on it, Sinclair, I mean that I will find your reptilian ass, shove that 'special' taser you gave me up where the sun don't shine, and drag you by your flaky tail down here if you even think about making some bullshit excuse. Capiche?

For the record, I do not have a tail and even if I did, it would not be flaky.

(drawn out)

Capiche. I understand. I'll be there.
Now that you've secured my holy presence at whatever this event is, can I get back to what I was doing?

You were doing something other than lying around in your underwear?

Ha. Ha. I do many things, I'll have you know. But I have found a new... subject of interest.

What poor soul has caught your eye now?

That's for me to know and you to agonize over.

Right. I have to go. Don't forget about next week. Thursday. You better be here by four-thirty or I will do as promised and then some.

Shay bids Nicole good bye and sets his phone down, returning his attention to his laptop.


where a portrait of Issac is presented with his school contact info and a small blurb on what he teaches and other inconsequential person tidbits. The mouse hovers around Issac's forced smile on the screen.

Issac Hoadley...


A DANCE GROUP plays their MUSIC, trying to hype up the CROWD gathered near the statue of Samuel Adams. Shay, bundled up like it's late-Novemeber/early-December instead of late-October, walks past them on the other side of the statue, walking along the Freedom Trail onto S Market Street. He sips on his hot apple cider from the nearest Dunkin' Donuts, passing by shops and other pedestrians, overhearing conversations. One group's, two women and a man, conversation piques his interest. Shay sits down on one of the little benches, setting his half finished cider to the side so he can pull out his lighter and a cigarette. As he lights up and puts his lighter away, his ear is on the group.

Did you read the Daily Power this morning?

No, I never read that nonsense. It's full of crackpot conspiracy theories. Wasn't it last week that they mentioned something about that anti-supers group plotting to take over Fenway?

Yes, but this time they have a reliable source!

Uh-huh. Reliable like a twelve-year old submitting a 'tip' written in purple ink on the back of a math worksheet.

Or reliable like that homeless couple who the very next day were on the front page for stabbing someone right outside Park Street?

Shay idly picks up his cider and alternates between drinking and smoking.

The have a direct quote from the General!

The woman's companions roll their eyes and make mocking sounds of excitement.

Fine then. Just be warned about how I'll tell you both I told you so when the General makes an announcement about how the Court has a plan to eradicate all the supervillains in the world.

Shay finishes his drink and stands up, tossing the styrofoam cup in the trash bin as he continues on his way, smoke spilling from his lips, brows furrowed in thought. He stuffs his free hand into his coat pocket as the wind picks up and emphasizes the chilly late-October weather.

I'll have to remember to look into that later. The Daily Power, though full of imaginative nuts, sometimes isn't too far off the mark.

A particularly strong gust of wind WHIPS past, making Shay grimace. He leaves the cigarette between his lips, breathing out smoke from around the stick as he rubs his gloved hands together in a vain attempt at warming them up.

Fucking hate the cold. I need new gloves. I could all toasty warm in my apartment, with coffee and fake Chinese food, but nooooo. Gotta get a new suit jacket and some stupid cuff links because I quite like my manhood and while I like certain things up my ass, tasers that I modified, are not one of them. Fucking bitch.

The people around Shay give him a bit of a wide berth as he grumbles to himself down the street.

(loud whisper)
Mommy, Daddy, that man's taking to himself!

Just ignore him, dear.

But, Mommy!

Do you want hot chocolate?

Yes, please!

Shay makes his way towards where the Faneuil Hall Christmas tree was going to be set up in the next few weeks as soon as Halloween ends. He turns down the one street that is always empty and best steered clear of if alone. He hears SCUFFLING in the near distance, coming from an alley, barely discernible in the general city CACOPHONY. Shay walks towards it. MUFFLED grunts of pain echo after a SLAM.

Fuck off!

Shay's eyes widen briefly in surprise before he raises one brow in amusement.

Now where have I heard that voice before? Maybe my coffee and fake Chinese was an acceptable sacrifice.



Issac hisses as he's pressed face-first against the grimy alley wall. The MUGGER, dressed in typical black garb from head to toe, presses the tip of his knife to Issac's lower back, not piercing but threatening.

Cough it up!

(muffled grunts)
Even if I was going to, I couldn't with you right on top of me with that knife, you fucking idiot. If you're so hard up, go find a prostitute.

The mugger splutters and grabs the back of Issac's head, smashing his face into the wall with a hard THUD. Blood drips down from Issac's nose, some smeared on the wall. Shay's shadowed figure creeps up behind them, keeping to the darkened shadows. He drops his cigarette to the floor.

Watch your damn mouth—

Piss off and let me go!

Neither notice Shay come up just a few feet behind the mugger.

That ain't how a mugging works. Although I may just take ya up on that other offer.

The man nudges his hips suggestively against Issac. Frost gathers at Issac's palms that are trapped between his chest and the wall. Flakes of ice fall to the floor at his feet, unnoticed.


Shay reaches down into his boot and pulls out a small dagger. He steps up right behind the mugger and presses the tip into the side of the other man's neck, just barely breaking skin. A drop of blood trickles down the man's skin.

Nice and easy, drop the knife.

W-who, wha-

Drop. The knife. Or I'll have a little fun with my own.

Shay presses the tip of the blade deeper into the mugger's neck. The mugger immediately drops the knife with a muted CLANG on the floor. The frost at Issac's hands dissipates.

What the hell is going on?

Shay flips his dagger around and slams the end of the handle against the mugger's head. The mugger curses and Shay grasps the mugger's head, slamming it forward into the wall next to Issac's face. The mugger crumples to the ground.

What the fucking shit!

Issac tries to turn around, but Shay grips the back of Issac's head, keeping it facing forward as he aligns his front to Issac's back and keeps his knife against the side of Issac's face, restraining any movement from the younger man. Shay kicks the unconscious body of the mugger out of the way.


Shay tilts his head down to Issac's ear. His lips form a wicked smirk.

Who'd have thought that a measly human mugger could get the best of a super?

W-wh-what? The fuck you on about? And let me go, you fucking cum-bucket chicken nugget.

(chuckles darkly)
Is that how you speak to the person who saved you? Huh... Flurry?

A/N: Heyyo. So. You may or may not be wondering what this is if you're an old reader of mine. If you've never read anything of mine before, well. hiya. Anywho. This is an in-progress screenplay I wrote for a competition on another website. Funny thing. I won :D I've never won anything before so pretty excited, especially because I've never written a screenplay before so I had to google a fuckton of stuff and there's definitely lots of mistakes.


I'm posting what I've written for this on wattpad and fictionpress because I kinda want some opinions on whether I should finish this, but as a novella/novel thing. Soooo yeah. I haven't got much done because a) I'm me and b) screenplay writing is so hard. I have this 'pilot episode' and like 5/6, about 4k words, of 'episode one' written.